


we are the goon squad and we're coming to town

by savon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1970s, Canon Related, Demonic Modes of Transport, Demonic Naps, Gen, Vague Bonding Over Unusual Eyes, Ziggy Stardust Tour, but it's more of a love letter to david bowie, little to no plot just thinking about david bowie, one mention of discorporation, this was supposed to be about crowley being glam rock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25652614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savon/pseuds/savon
Summary: Crowley wakes up from a nap, finds out David Bowie exists, and becomes as starstruck as a demon can be, which is, apparently, very.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 11





	we are the goon squad and we're coming to town

The things humans have been up to lately!

After they started growing their hair a couple years back, it seemed all previous limits have been tested, if not outright crossed. 

In Crowley's circles, at least. He wasn't very invested in a lot of things that weren't specifically beneficial or enjoyable to him – meaning he was well-versed in pictures, different types of fuel, the opening hours of restaurants in the vicinity of Aziraphale's bookshop (which were a bit difficult to keep track of, but he managed), music, the preservation of fish, and fashion.

And from what Crowley could see, fashion in London in the 1973rd year of the Lord AD was taking quite a few turns, and one of those turns in particular was turning his head in a different direction from what was before.

After taking a light nap for six years with a new thermos tucked away safely in the cupboard under the kitchen sink, waking up to see the Beatles have disbanded and their hair went out of style before he even went to sleep and discovering there was a very fun new thing called integrated computer systems and checked in with Aziraphale, who was noticeably glad to see him up and about, he went to look around a bit more.

And that's how a day later found him in the back of a lorry with his nails painted black, wearing the most tartan of trousers (stylish!), the tackiest of boots and abrasivest of blazers (no shirt, just a satin tie), without his sunglasses, the glitteriest makeup he could conjure up on his face and his hair more disheveled than ever, and also he was quite literally buried under suit- and guitar cases.

The reason for all this, or the effect, was that he was employed as David Bowie's roadie, as David Bowie was on his Ziggy Stardust Tour, and Crowley really wanted to kiss him or something, and also David Bowie was this silly rusty garden gate-voiced, ever-changing-always-himself little being, always creative and always creating in any way he felt like, and Crowley felt, aside from the voice, reflected in him.

He felt David Bowie dug what he was about before even meeting him, and, come on, alright, he felt Understood.

Funny, that.

Another funny thing is the word 'employed', because, strictly speaking, that would mean someone employed him to be David Bowie's roadie, and nobody actually did that.

It was more like he snuck into the lorry carrying the suit- and guitar- and oh, fuck, a bump in the road, there were apparently drums in the lorry too, and he was being crushed by a lot of cases, varying in size and weight and shape and contents.

Yes, he could have demoned his way into getting hired for real, but that wasn't his style, and from that he reckoned it wasn't David Bowie's style and G- anyway, David Bowie was so Cool and Crowley wanted to Impress Him and just!! Since when did he want to impress humans?

Two days.

After a questionable amount of time that may not have been long at all but could also have been hours upon hours, the lorry stopped bumping cases on him, as it stopped, and Crowley scrambled out to see he was in whomever knows which English town and that people who were decidedly not David Bowie were looking at him strangely.

It felt good to know they were looking at him strangely not because of his outfit, but because of his scrambling. 1973, David Bowie.

"Did you go in there to steal David's clothes?" asked one of the people, presumably someone actually working on the tour, not necessarily unkindly, but like she had had to deal with people stealing David Bowie's clothes from his suitcases on many an occasion.

Crowley sputtered. On the one hand, how dare she, on the other, why didn't he? He was in there with a lot of various cases for a questionable amount of time that may not have been long at all but could have been hours upon hours.

"Alright, well," continued the woman, "shoo."

Crowley sputtered again, but complied. He had to look for David Bowie.

He didn't have to look long because more than conveniently the lorry parked right in front of the building where the concert was going to be that night, and Crowley influenced his way in through the staff door in the back, and after a bit of wandering around, he found a door that said David Bowie on it.

He wanted to knock, but he didn't.  
Instead, he sat down beside the door, and waited, and waited, and waited, listening to the noises seeping through the gap under the door. A thrilling four hours passed in this fashion.

Then the voices neared the door, and it opened, and out came the woman from earlier, a man, and David Bowie.

Crowley, with all the grace that hasn't been stripped away from him, clambered to his feet, attracting the attention of the three, and, with David Bowie's mismatched eyes on him, he suddenly felt something no mortal has ever made him feel before.

Not Sappho, not King Arthur, not We'wha, not any of them: starstruck.

He suddenly didn't quite know what to say.

"Hi," he settled on after not a lot of gaping; no time, "love what you're doing. Keep it up."

"Thanks," nodded David Bowie, "your eyes are cool."

Crowley didn't know how he managed to get to the point emotionally where he would have cried from this, had he tear ducts, all in one day, but he didn't, so he just beamed and wished someone would discorporate him, for a lot of reasons he didn't have time to deal with or try to discern.

"Have you been here for long?" David Bowie went on, choosing to ignore the fact that a demon was wishing to inconvenience himself verily in his or because of his presence. "You could've knocked, once you've got this far in, but also thanks for not doing that. Suzi mentioned someone like you was in one of the tour lorries, and I hope to assume it was you! You're just the sort," he trailed off like people do when they see an opportune moment to find out someone's name in the least and most casual way.

Crowley, having experienced humans before, knew this.  
"Crowley," he croaked, "I'm Crowley. I'm just the sort, yeah."

He tried to kind of look pointedly at David Bowie, as if to say he felt they were rather similar, and wondered if David Bowie said he was just the sort (David Bowie said he was just the sort!) because he felt the same, but Crowley didn't know how well his pointed look conveyed his meaning.

David Bowie looked back at him with another pointed kind of look of his own, which could have meant three things: 1. he understood, 2. he was humouring Crowley, 3. he didn't know what was going on and was slightly disturbed. Take your pick.

Suzi, who apparently was a witter, gently took David Bowie's elbow and pushed it a bit.

"Lovely meeting you, then, Crowley," David Bowie extended his hand as he was kindly ushered away, and Crowley ran to shake it, "hope you'll enjoy the show! Happy lurking!" 

And David Bowie was dragged away along the corridor.

Ah, yes, thought Crowley, who just shook hands with David Bowie, a show. There was going to be a show because he was not employed as a roadie for a tour and he was going to enjoy it.

He tempted his way into the concert hall of whatever town he was in and hung on to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I sincerely hope you enjoyed this!  
> The title is from David Bowie's song [Fashion.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-z6u5hFgPk) (Beep beep!)
> 
> did you guys know david bowie played a lot of velvet underground during this tour


End file.
